Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [136]
While he ruled like a king.
And that he did.
Every night there was feasting and revels in the great hall of the palace. Wine flowed freely, and platter after laden platter emerged from the kitchens. There were dancers and musicians and comedians. Some were Carthaginian, imported along with his household. Most were Aragonian. Some performed with bitterness scarce concealed behind stoic expressions. Some with philosophical indifference.
Astegal didn’t care either way.
All of it entertained him—all of it.
He laughed and clapped regardless, tossing coins for the performers to scramble after. And every night, every damnable night, Sidonie sat beside him. For the most part, she was quiet and withdrawn. She was struggling, I could tell. Sorting through her thoughts and fears and confusion, trying to put them in order. Sometimes she would glance my way, and I could see the quiet panic. At other times, Astegal spoke soothingly to her, stroking her face with his ringed hand, and I could see the fears abate.
And every night, every night, she went willingly with him. His strong arm resting around her waist or draped over her shoulders. His hardened soldier’s hands. Touching her, possessing her. Guiding her to their bedchamber, over and over.
I thought I would lose my mind.
My only consolation was that Bodeshmun himself seemed disturbed at Astegal’s excesses. He attended the revels, grim and funereal in his black horologist’s robes. From time to time, I saw him murmur in Astegal’s ear. The Carthaginian general merely laughed, waving away his concerns. Well and good, I thought, you reap what you have sown, Bodeshmun.
Still, it was cold comfort.
I waited for Sidonie to send for me, waited and waited. But it was Justina who sent for me first, inviting me to dine privately with her. It seemed she had a villa of her own, not far from the palace.
“Leander Maignard!” This time, in private, Justina greeted me with a kiss. “I’m sorry, I wanted to send for you or Sunjata sooner, but I had to be cautious. I’m treading a narrow path here. Tell me, do you have word from her ladyship? What game is afoot?”
I glanced around, wary of her servants.
“I’ve dismissed them for the evening,” Justina said, reading my face. She reached up to toy with my braids. “The table’s already laid. As far as they’re concerned, this is likely a dalliance I don’t want known. So come dine, and tell me.”
I did.
Justina listened in fascination, her eyes widening. “Dire magic,” she said when I had finished. “That explains a great deal.”
I stabbed my fork into a piece of overcooked fish. “Can you help?”
“I could have.” She eyed me wryly. “Gods, Leander! I wish you’d come here first. Until her demure highness arrived, I’d managed to position myself nicely as Astegal’s mistress.”
“Oh?” I savaged my fish. “Then why did you spit at me on the docks?”
Justina blinked. “I told you, I’m treading a narrow path. As far as Astegal and Carthage are concerned, I’m a young Aragonian widow, an eager opportunist playing at being a double agent. As far as loyal Aragonia is concerned, I’m a spy in Serafin’s service.” She shrugged. “Before this I was eyes and ears, nothing more. Now I’m merely awaiting word on whom, if anyone, to betray. I haven’t been able to get word out to her ladyship since the war began.”
“It’s Astegal,” I said curtly.
“You won’t mind if I confirm that with Sunjata, will you?” Justina rested her chin on one hand, studying me. “Because I’ll be honest, Leander. You seem . . . odd.”
I set down my fork. “Odd how?”
“I don’t know.” Justina blinked again. “Just . . . odd.”
I sighed. “Oh, hells! Justina, I feel odd. And her highness . . . I assure you, Sidonie de la Courcel is not demure.”
“Well, she’s barely said